


Sage

by taylor_tut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump, sick crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Another prompt for my tumblr! This one came out way too fluffy for my liking, but basically Crowley accidentally drinks some sage tea and has a reaction to it (being a demon and all). He turns, of course, to Aziraphale for comfort.





	Sage

Aziraphale was finally able to begin his favorite task in the whole wide world: re-alphabetizing the books that had been picked up and abandoned throughout the course of the day.

Crowley, on the occasions when he offered to help and then mostly just stood around and complained about the work, which Zira didn’t mind, thought that it was rude that humans would take a book from a shelf and then just put them wherever they fancied. Aziraphale actually liked it, this quiet time alone with his books. He was able to see which books caught the eyes of someone at some point during the day, got to speculate why the person may have changed their mind about it. Had they purchased too many already and had to reluctantly cut their least favorite of the pile? Had they judged it by the cover and found the synopsis to be too boring? It was easy to get lost in the choices that were almost made during a day. Often, he read them just to see what the person had been missing by replacing the novel on the shelf. 

Needless to say, Aziraphale was in a good mood at the late hour of night when the loud, thumping knock at the shop’s door had startled him. 

“Terribly sorry, but we’re closed,” he called. He tutted when the knock came again, assuming that the would-be patron hadn’t heard him, and made his way to the front of the store to open the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re—Cowley?” he cut himself off in surprise. “What are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, an unfamiliar gruffness to his tone. “We both know you don’t sleep.” He didn’t ask to come in but Aziraphale didn’t expect him to, moving aside for him. The steps he took through the door were clumsy and stumbling like he was unsteady on his feet, and he caught himself on a bookshelf, careful not to knock it over. 

“You look dreadful,” Aziraphale remarked in alarm. Indeed, Crowley appeared to be struggling. His face was pale and his posture was slumped in addition to the difficulty he appeared to be having remaining upright. “Are you—erm. Have you been drinking tonight?”

Crowley scoffed meanly. “Ironic that you Angels always assume the worst,” he dodged. Aziraphale moved quickly to steady him when his knees threatened twice to buckle, then ended up simply sinking to the floor under his weight when they did. 

“Sorry,” Aziraphale apologized. “Are you alright?” 

Crowley was slow to look at him, which worried him. However, as Aziraphale looked him over, he didn’t appear to be hurt. There was no blood, no sign of injury. His hair was perfectly ruffled and his clothes weren’t so much as wrinkled, but nevertheless, he appeared to be sweating and flushed. 

“Might be a touch poisoned,” he admitted, and Aziraphale’s eyes went wide.

“You what?” he exclaimed. Crowley winced at the volume of his voice and Aziraphale frowned. Carefully, he removed Crowley’s glasses to get a better look at his eyes, more snakelike than he was used to, and dull. Crowley rolled his eyes as if it were a hassle to explain. 

“Downstairs neighbor offered me tea,” he explained. “Old woman. Very lonely.”

“She poisoned you?” 

“Sage in the tea,” he explained. “Couldn’t smell it for all the spearmint.” 

Aziraphale nodded, placing a hand on Crowley’s forehead and feeling his concern spike once more. He normally ran a bit cool, though not entirely cold-blooded, but now his forehead was noticeably warm to the touch. 

“Crowley, my dear, you’re burning up,” he fretted. Crowley nuzzled a bit into Aziraphale, where he could feel him shivering. Not good. He’d have to get him out of his suit coat and under some proper blankets in the back room of the bookshop. “Can you stand?”

“How do you think I got here?” he dodged. In truth, he was no more confident in his ability to balance upright than Aziraphale was, but he’d never admit that. 

“Alright, then,” rallied Aziraphale, “let’s get you up.” Crowley was unsteady on his feet like he was drunk, swaying dangerously back and forth for a minute, but Aziraphale’s grip on him never slackened and he ended up making it to the couch in the back room in one piece. “Good, very good,” he congratulated. “Now, I’ll help you off with this.” 

Crowley protested Aziraphale unbuttoning his blazer, clinging to the warmth like, well, a snake to a heat lamp, and it worried him a bit that Aziraphale could fight him off so easily. The jacket was immediately replaced with a blanket, which Crowley relaxed underneath as Aziraphale covered him up with it. 

“How much sage do you think you ingested?”

Crowley pried open his eyes, looking irritated that he was being asked anything when he was trying to sleep. 

“Not enough to discorporate,” he replied. “Barely a mouthful of tea.”

Aziraphale relaxed a bit. So, it would be unpleasant, but he’d survive. He pressed a hand to his forehead once more, this time for comfort rather than diagnostic relevance, then ran it through Crowley’s hair gently. The furrow in his brow relaxed a bit and he didn’t have to be asked to take that as Aziraphale’s cue to sit, propping Crowley up for just enough time to sit and allow him to rest his head in his lap, and continue to stroke his hair. 

“I forgot to ask,” Aziraphale realized aloud, “whether you need anything. I can make tea if you’re chilled, or get something to settle your stomach—”

“—Just stay,” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale couldn’t force himself to force him to move right now. Surely, he should be eating something to keep his strength up, or drinking enough water to try to flush it from his system faster, or any number of other things that weren’t just lying in an overheated heap on the couch. Here he was, sitting in his bookshop, so utterly unguarded that he must really be feeling miserable, and Aziraphale just wanted to provide him with the smallest comfort that he asked for. Well, logic always did fly out the window when it came to Crowley. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured. He could have sworn that Crowley nuzzled more deeply into his side, but perhaps it was just for warmth. 


End file.
